Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

“ G one?” Beatrice echoed. “When?”

Theodosia wrung her hands—a nervous gesture Beatrice had never seen her make before.

“He came home briefly last night,” she said, swallowing hard. “His things were already packed up, and he had them sent straight to the townhouse and followed immediately.”

Beatrice swallowed hard.

The morning was bright but cloudy, a perfect day to while away the hours until it was time to go to the theater in the evening. Stephen was meant to escort both Beatrice and his mother, but Beatrice had a feeling that they would be going alone.

A lump formed in her throat. “I see,” she managed.

It seemed pointless to try and maintain her composure, since she was not fooling anybody. Not herself, and certainly not Theodosia.

While the older woman was now the Dowager Duchess of Blackwood, the servants were still loyal to her. No doubt Theodosia would have heard about Beatrice’s order to pack her husband’s things.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it. Perhaps I should have… Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know what I should have done.

She felt drained, like a wet rag wrung out again and again until it was limp and useless.

“Did you see him? Before he left?” she ventured.

Theodosia nibbled on her lower lip and eventually nodded. “Yes, briefly. I would not have, except that he sent Mouse to fetch me. He wanted to say goodbye, he said.”

He said goodbye to you, but not to me.

Beatrice swallowed again.

“I tried to tell him to speak to you, too,” Theodosia added. “I tried my best to convince him. He wouldn’t tell me a thing, and it was so very late. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so tired, I might have convinced him to…”

“This is not your fault, Theodosia. Please, don’t think that I blame you in the slightest,” Beatrice said quickly. “This is between Stephen and myself. Neither of us would expect you to take sides, or accept any sort of blame.”

Theodosia sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “I just thought… I thought for a while that something was developing between you. I was so happy. You’re the finest daughter-in-law a mother could want, and what mother does not want her son to be happy? I hoped for the best, but it seems that it is not meant to be.”

“No, I think not,” Beatrice answered brusquely. “It hardly matters, I think. He always intended to go to the townhouse.”

She turned to go, but Theodosia spoke again.

“He said he had left something for you in the study. I have no idea what.”

Beatrice paused, frowning. “Something for me?”

Theodosia shrugged helplessly. “He would not say what. My son is far too stubborn, but I believe you know that already.”

Beatrice certainly did. She left without another word.

Breakfast was set out in the dining room, but Beatrice had no appetite.

Despite her best efforts, she hoped, faintly, that the something left for her in the study might be Stephen himself. It was a foolish notion, the sort of thing one would read in a novel with a swooning heroine and a handsome hero.

Her hopes were dashed at once, of course. The study was empty. A fire burned in the grate, since a fire was kindled there every morning for Stephen.

I will have to ask Mouse to stop kindling the fire in the morning . Since Stephen will not be here, it’s a waste to heat an empty room.

His desk was clean and tidy, so the envelope caught her attention at once. Beatrice picked it up, reading her name on the front.

It could be a letter of explanation . He might love me after all, and this letter might well explain it.

The fresh surge of hope was almost painful, but Beatrice could not suppress it. She tore open the letter, frantically scanning the page.

It was not a letter.

It was the rules. Their agreement.

Her vision blurred for a moment. When she could see clearly, she saw that some changes had been made to the agreement. No, only one change had been made.

“ Rule number four, ” she read aloud. “ You may make yourself at home here and change whatever you like, including the observatory. This is your domain as well as mine. Changes in the conservatory can be made at Mouse’s discretion if you are feeling courageous enough to ask. ”

And that was it. That was the only change.

Beatrice stared at the list, written in Stephen’s now-familiar handwriting, until the words blurred.

She crumpled the letter in her hands, almost without thinking. She crumpled it tighter and tighter in her palm. Then, in one smooth movement, she tossed it into the fire. The flames ate it up at once until there were no ashes left.

“You could have stayed,” she whispered aloud. “Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight? Or was this simply not worth fighting for?”

There was no answer, of course.

The theater was full, as usual. Beatrice wound her arm tightly through Theodosia’s as they made their way through the crowds to their seats. A few people glanced their way thoughtfully, and Beatrice just knew that Stephen’s absence was noticed.

She kept her head up high and tried not to notice. The writing desk in her favorite parlor was littered with crumpled pieces of paper, abandoned notes, and letters, all addressed to Stephen’s townhouse. She had given up in the end. There was no point, was there?

“We don’t have to stay, Beatrice,” Theodosia said, her voice low. They had just passed a gaggle of men and women—Miss Boules among them—who were whispering and giggling behind their hands, their eyes glued to Beatrice. “We can just go home.”

“And have it reported in the scandal sheets that the Duchess of Blackwood turned tail and fled after being abandoned by her husband again ? No, I don’t think so.”

“It might not happen,” Theodosia pressed. “The Marquess left town this morning, by all accounts. With him gone, maybe?—”

“Nothing will change,” Beatrice said, more bluntly than she had intended. She shot Theodosia an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I’m a little tired.”

Theodosia gave her arm a squeeze. “Once we get to our box, I’ll go and find you some refreshments. It’ll make you feel better.”

Beatrice smiled tiredly at her mother-in-law. “Thank you. You are very kind to me, Theodosia.”

Theodosia smiled. “I always wanted a daughter, you know. I always imagined myself with two children—a boy and a girl. In a way, I think I have finally gotten what I wanted.”

They made their way to their box, and Beatrice sat down with a thump. Perhaps she was more tired than she had expected.

I really do not want to be at the theater today.

“I won’t be a moment,” Theodosia promised and scuttled out of the box and into the crowds again, leaving Beatrice alone.

She leaned back, closing her eyes.

Beatrice could not have said when she realized that she was not alone in the box. The feeling crept up on her, growing in intensity, and her eyes abruptly flew open.

It was Cornelia.

“What are you doing here?” Beatrice gasped, bouncing to her feet. “I shall scream for help.”

Cornelia rolled her eyes. “Do you think you’d be heard in this chaos? Besides, you are too dramatic. I am not here to murder you. I simply want to talk.”

“The last conversation we had was not a pleasant one.”

“No,” Cornelia acknowledged, looking a little uneasy. “May I sit?”

“No.”

Cornelia narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, but she held her tongue. There was a taut moment of silence between the two women.

Cornelia dropped her gaze first. “I am not with child,” she said in a rush. “I… I lied to you.”

Beatrice bit her lip. “Stephen said that you lied. I didn’t exactly believe him. After all, you’re so beautiful, and the two of you do have a connection.”

Cornelia was quiet for a moment.

“Stephen and I are somewhat similar,” she said, eventually. “I believe that is why we got on so well, at the start. We are both cold and rational. I am not sure there was anything more than that between us. I don’t mean to say that he was cruel, or harsh, or even that I was unhappy. On the contrary. I imagine you know by now who my brother is. Half-brother, I mean.”

Beatrice swallowed. “Yes. The Marquess of Hampton. The man I was meant to marry.”

Cornelia nodded. She slid down into a seat, and so did Beatrice, not bothering to remind her that she had not been invited to sit. It didn’t seem to matter much. Any anger between the women, if there had ever been any, was gone.

“I love my brother,” Cornelia said. “He’s a fool, and he makes the same mistakes our father did, but I love him. I did not agree with how he managed that business with Mary—poor girl. But then, I did not force him to do right by her, so I suppose I am a little culpable as well.”

“I don’t blame you for what the Marquess did. But you might blame me for how our wedding ended. I asked Stephen to intervene.”

“He said as much. It’s the sort of thing he would do. I wanted revenge, I won’t deny it. When I learned that you were marrying Stephen, I—” Cornelia broke off, shaking her head. “I never imagined myself marrying him, but neither did I imagine him marrying anyone at all. I did not love him, I will be frank with you there. But to be a duchess… Well, it is alluring. My climb to the top of Society would be complete, regardless of my birth. It angered me to know that you, a woman I regarded as lesser than me, were going to be a duchess. Not me.”

There was a brief silence before Beatrice cleared her throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cornelia met her eyes. “I suppose I want you to understand. I think you deserve a little honesty. You have been humiliated and laughed at, and now I suspect your heart is broken. Stephen’s absence tonight has not gone unnoticed.”

Beatrice cleared her throat and looked away. “Yes, I thought as much.”

“My brother has left London,” Cornelia said, her tone changing a little. “I do not think he will return. I have a patron here in London—Lord Everard—so I think I am going to stay. I require his patronage for my shows, you see. I am rich enough, but if I want to remain in Society, I require patrons. Perhaps if my father had acknowledged me, I would not have had to live in such a way. But he was married before he met my mother, so I must bear the blame. She was an actress, though, so I doubt they would have gotten married even if he were available. But it does not matter. You will not hear from me again. We don’t move in the same circles, and I do not think that Stephen would like to see me again.”

Lord Everard, Beatrice recalled, was a doddery old baron in his early sixties, with a taste for good food, fine wine, and beautiful women. For the first time, she felt a pang of sympathy for Cornelia.

How unfair that a woman so clever, so beautiful, and so talented should be reliant on men in such a way.

“I see,” she murmured. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Cornelia smiled faintly. “You are most welcome. I wish I had acted differently, but we women do this often, don’t we? Turn on each other, rather than on the men between us. For what it’s worth, I believe he is truly fond of you.”

Beatrice looked away. “I am not sure Stephen could ever be truly fond of anyone.”

Cornelia tilted her head to the side. “Goodness. You think not? I believe otherwise, but time will tell. Time will certainly tell.”

Before Beatrice could say another word, the curtain to their box was pulled open, revealing Theodosia with a flute of champagne in each hand, and a box of chocolates jammed under her arm. She visibly flinched at the sight of Cornelia.

“What… Beatrice, what is going on?”

Cornelia rose smoothly. “I shall take my leave. Goodbye, Your Grace. Enjoy the show, won’t you?”

She didn’t wait for a response and glided past Theodosia and out into the hallway, immediately swallowed up by the crowds.

Theodosia blinked down at Beatrice. “Well, what on earth was that? Why was she here?”

“I… I think she just wanted to talk to me.”

“ Talk to you? Whatever for?”

Beatrice leaned back in her seat, her head spinning. She felt more tired than ever and suddenly aware of all the opera glasses aimed in her direction. People had noticed. She knew she should have been more upset, more concerned about what tomorrow’s scandal sheets would say, but truly, she could not find it in herself to care.

“I think it was an apology,” she said, at last. “I believe she wanted me to forgive her.”

“Oh,” Theodosia responded, blinking. “And did you?”

Beatrice considered for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think I did.”

Beatrice was almost too tired to put a foot in front of another. There had been moments of enjoyment on their night out—the performance was very good, and it was pleasant to see Theodosia enjoying it. Beatrice also had the opportunity to meet Theodosia’s friend, Mr. Harvey Harris, who was a very nice gentleman and clearly smitten with Theodosia.

Still, it was beyond relief to finally step into her home. Mouse was waiting, ready to take her shawl and gloves.

“Is the Dowager Duchess joining us tonight, Your Grace?” Mouse asked.

Beatrice shook her head. “Just me tonight, Mouse. I’m exhausted. An early night for me, I suppose.”

Mouse nodded. “Before you retire, Your Grace, I should tell you that the observatory has been thoroughly cleaned and dusted, as per your orders. I should be obliged if you would go up and check on the work.”

“I’m sure you’ve done an excellent job, Mouse.”

He hesitated. “Yes, but the maids do not often clean the observatory. I’m sure they would be pleased if you confirm that the cleaning is to your standards.”

Beatrice shrugged. “I’m sure it will be. I’ll check in the morning.”

Mouse said nothing, clutching her shawl and gloves, tight-lipped and clearly disapproving.

Beatrice glanced up at him and bit back a sigh. “You want me to check now, don’t you?”

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace.”

She rubbed a hand over her face. She was tired, and not at all in the mood to inspect a cleaned room, let alone climb all those stairs.

“Very well,” Beatrice said, forcing a smile. “If it means that much to you, I shall go and check it now.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Beatrice had expected Mouse to come with her, to take a little tour of the observatory, but he melted away, leaving her to find her way there alone.

I must be the most placid duchess ever, she thought sourly, hauling herself up the stairs.

Something was a little off, and it took Beatrice a moment to figure out exactly what was wrong with the light. Aside from a couple of discreet candles that had been left burning—which was a fire risk, of course—she noticed almost immediately that all of the panels on the roof were open.

The glass dome was almost entirely bare, the full expanse of the sky glittering high above her. Beatrice had never seen the night sky quite as spread out, quite as close , and she couldn’t quite suppress a gasp of delight.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

Beatrice nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice.

She spun around, and there he was. His familiar frame was silhouetted against the candlelight, the silvery moonlight and starlight illuminating his black hair and accentuating his broad shoulders.

Beatrice’s heart hammered, and the exhaustion she’d felt over the night vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Stephen,” she gasped. “You’re here.”